Nausea.

Love
is apparently a wonderful thing.

But few of us
Will ever experience anything real
Because we keep letting our bodies get in the way.


I'm a prude?
You're an ass.

Drag.

You’re always ahead of the game,
I drag behind;
You never get caught in the rain,
When I’m drenched to the bone every time.

So, apparently, time is like this long thread or something that you can move back and forth on.
Except I don’t know how that can be true, because we never seem to be moving anywhere but forward.

When most people are asked "What would be the one thing you'd change if you could?" they say "Nothing. I've learned something from everything I did. So I wouldn't change a thing."
And then insert some sort of gay smiley which makes the rest of us want to puke our guts out.
The truth, of course, is that each of us, if we could, know the consequences of things we do in advance, wouldn’t do the regretful ones at all.
I mean, why sit in the class if you already know the subject, right?
If we knew what we've done will make us cower in *insert appropriate noun* we'd go back in time and change it.
Hell, we'd probably pick a different flavoured ice cream, if we didn't like the last one we ate.

Then again, since most people live in denial, it'll be very hard to prove this true.
It's so much easier to be decisive when you don't have the choice.

So yeah, back to time.
It would be nice if time was like a DVD or something.
Not so we could switch it off. But just maybe.. pause it for a while.
Just, you know, stop moving forward.
For a bit.
Because before you know it, it’s already tomorrow.
And before that realization has sunk in, it’s the day after.

Irony can make you laugh.
But in the nervous sort of way one associates with being trapped in a windowless room with Hannibal Lector.

You possess every trait that I lack,
By coincidence or by design;
You’re always ahead of the game,
While I drag behind.

Mirror, Mirror.

It’s a dog eat dog world out there.
Now what will become of you, bitch?

Psychobabblekashdgasfjhasf.

Begone!

Shun yourself!

Err.. Go away (?).

Do you not know I have Board exams?
You don't?
Oh.
Well, I do.
And not SSC, pah. HSC.

I be growed up.

Oh. I figured it out, btw.

Life is a narcissist.
Shallow, grandiose and way over dramatic.

That, actually, sounds like a lot of people I know.

Not you, though. You are all very nice people for taking time out of your valuable lives to read my literary progeny. Okay, technically progeny means offspring, but I bet you didn't know that anyway.

I'm getting vain, aren't I.

Who cares.

Two more Board exams to go. And then so many days of ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO HAHAHAHA.

I will go to Goa. You watch. All of you. Just see.

Then when I'm in Goa you'll will all think "Yah, she went to Goa. I'm so jealous."

Then I will laugh at you.
Well, not right away, because I will be in Goa.
But when I come back, just watch how much I laugh.

She's laughing, they'll say. Look, just look how she laughs.
I won't know, mainly because I'll be laughing so much.

And and. Formula 1 starts soon.
And I am going to watch Sweeney Todd tomorrow.

Oh, happy days!

And now, to sum up this entirely pointless post - I will laugh. You all are nice.

Okay, not really, I'm just saying that so you keep coming back and reading my blog.

The sparse few of you, who do, that is.

But I probably shouldn't have said that.

I think I will go finish at least one chapter in Psychology before my exam tomorrow.
*Gulp*

Goodbye, goodbye.
Live well and prosper.

Stranger.

The night air was balmy and filled by its usual dose of unidentifiable insects and baseless chatter.

“What would you do if I died?”

“Is this one of those ridiculously feminine questions that I have to answer tactfully?”

“You wouldn’t know tact if it bit off your ear and stapled it on your eye.”

“I’m thinking, but I honestly think there is no real response to that kind of mental imagery.”

“Hahaha. The foreigner’s a joker. Pardon my barely controlled hollow laughter.”

“It’s very rich of you to call me that considering this is my homeland.”

“Yeah, right. Have you heard yourself speak the language? Now answer the question.”

“I’ll have you know that I am wonderfully multilingual. And I will also have you know that you’re turning into a girl, my boy. A girl.”

“Uncalled for! I’m not a girl. I’m all man. I’ll prove it to you.”

“As wonderfully appealing as that sounds, NO! Yuck.”

“So answer the question!”

“What? What will I do if you die? I dunno. Probably go to your house and steal your music collection. And iPod.”

“That’s what you’ll do if I die.”

"That’s what I’ll do if you die. Why?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay you felt bad. You are turning into a girl.”

"Uh huh.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll drown in misery and uhhh… set up some sort of memorial home for you.”

“And then go home and steal my music and iPod?”

"No no, by then I’ll be a famous altruist. They’ll give me that stuff for free. So your music and iPod are safe.”

"Haha, right. Sooner or later you’ll squander all the money away doing something foolish and sell my music and iPod for money.”

"Well, yes. That’s a likely scenario, too.”

"I’d miss you if you died.”

“I didn't ask."

"Obnoxious hag.”

"Excuse me. I am not obnoxious.”

"And I’m not devilishly handsome.”

“That’s right. You’re not.”

“You’d miss me if I died.”

"Why do our conversations always revolve around death and misery? There are happier things to speak of.”

“Because you’re a gloomy and miserable person with a cactus like personality. I can’t help but be filled with despair around you.”

“That’s rude. And you’re still a girl.”

"I’m NOT A GIRL. You’re a girl.”

"I am a girl.”

"Sure you are. You should really look up a dictionary before you call yourself that.”

"You should do the same before not calling yourself that.”

"Shut up, brainless. You’ll miss me if I die, won’t you? Won’t you?”

"What’s wrong with you? Just shut up and go paint your nails or something.”

"You will. You’ll miss me if I die. And you’ll write about it. And be sad. Haha. Oh, yes.”

"Fine.”

"Fine?”

"Fine.”

“Okay, then. Fine.”

A few moments of silence followed. The cars raced past. The warm air grew marginally cooler.

"Listen?”

"Yeah.”

"Don’t die, okay?”

“Okay.”

The cars still race past, and the warm air is still balmy and filled with insects.
This time, though, there’s no baseless chatter.
But you're still right there. On that step.
And you'd give anything to know why you're still searching for the face of a long gone stranger in the familiarity of the streets.